Orange Blanket
by DisappearingKangaroo
Summary: One-Shot on the rather sad events right after the Reichenbach Fall TRF.


**A/N After writing the next chapter in the CotSS series, I decided that one angsty one-shot about TRF wasn't enough, so this just sorta happened. If you find any mistakes please** ** _please_** **tell me so I can fix them!**

 **"Pro" Tip- If you read this while listening to** ** _Snow Patrol_** **(I recommend** ** _Chasing Cars_** **) it'll make this even more depressing.**

 **Disclaimer: Characters aren't mine :(**

They brought him in.

They brought John Watson in.

Lestrade knows that you can't let a 'fugitive' go on the account that his best friend committed suicide, but really. The poor guy's best friend just committed suicide!

DI Dimmock found him outside of St. Barts, absent mindedly staring at a puddle of blood which was later to be revealed as Sherlock Holmes'. But Dimmock didn't care, so he plucked John right off of the sidewalk and into the police car, then drove straight to Scotland Yard.

The only person mildly happy about this is the Superintendent, since his recent bloody nose was caused by the now traumatized man. Everyone else on the other hand, felt horrible. Sure, all of them felt guilty for the suicide of the genius, but what they really felt bad for is the mental state of John Hamish Watson. This being because John Hamish Watson is a likeable man, and Sherlock Holmes is not.

All of Scotland yard likes John Watson. They're all been the victim of a nice act from the good doctor, and they're all at least attempted to return it. Except for Anderson ( **A/N~ No one likes you, Anderson** ).

Greg is very grateful for the acts that John has done regarding him. Just a few weeks ago, as he was running across London with the duo, he ran along the kerb and twisted his knee. The next thing he knew, John was there helping him sit up off the ground, and is asking him if he could straighten his leg, in an effort to diagnose how bad the injury was. The man is too damned kind for his own good.

As much as the forensics team loathes to admit it, John has helped them countless times as well. From case to case John will pull on some latex gloves and inspect a cadaver, giving helpful facts to the rest of the official team. And he'll just ignore the painful words that Anderson never ceases to throw at him and Sherlock.

And he does something that the entire world is grateful for, even if they don't realize it. He keeps Sherlock Holmes in check. He stops the man from exploding many things, and at this rate if it weren't for John, Anderson might've been dead. But now Anderson has all the hope of surviving. Because the great Consulting Detective is dead. His body lays on a slab in his favourite mortician's morgue.

And John? He looks almost dead himself.

He is a ghastly shade of grey, and his eyes are at half mast, looking down at the floor. A few people - Greg and Sally along with a few other mates from Scotland Yard - see John as he's practically being dragged in by Dimmock.

"Christ!" Greg exclaims, standing straight up from his desk. "What the bloody Hell are you doing?!" The others in the vicinity tense, Greg looks absolutely appalled. He has every right to be though, they've all seen the news. Sherlock Holmes is dead.

"He's a fugitive." Dimmock states plainly, still trying to get the doctor to the holding cells.

"He's also in shock!" Sally says, also interjecting after seeing beads of sweat come down on John's face. "He needs a doctor not a cell!"

By this point Greg was next to John's side, pushing Dimmock to the side. "John, mate? Hey?" John keeps his eyes fixed on the ground, on a certain coffee stain left from years ago. Everyone's level of worry just increases at this.

Sally also walks up cautiously, as if approaching a startled animal. Even though at this point, 'dying animal' may be a better analogy. She walks up holding an orange shock blanket, unknowingly causing something to click in John's brain.

The orange shock blanket.

The thing that marked the beginning of an epic friendship. That's… Now over.

The damned orange shock blanket. To John it screams "Sherlock Holmes" all over.

Surprising Greg and Sally, John looks out and reaches out to grab the blanket. And for a full four seconds they really think that John is going to be better.

But then he pulls away from Greg's supportive hand and collapses to the floor.

Lucky for them, the shock blanket is a very short distance to the victim. Greg lays the blanket over the good doctor, and tries to get him to respond. John's not unconscious, but his eyes are glassy and his skin is clammy, so he's not too conscious either.

Dimmock is still standing close by, not really sure what just happened. Some of the other people around move from their offices, others just look over their desks, but all of them want to see John Watson. The man that's done so much for them. And in return all he's got is a dead flatmate. A dead best friend.

After this moment, no one at Scotland Yard could really recall what happened during the rest of the afternoon. They could say that seconds morphed into minutes, and minutes morphed into hours.

Somewhere along the line John was moved from the floor to the old couch in the corner of the office that no one payed much attention to anymore. Or ever, for that matter.

Somewhere along the line John's eyes drifted closed, and he had some well earned rest. Sadly, it only lasted until he got into REM, and then nightmares plagued his brain and caused him to wake, breathing hard, but not making any noise.

Somewhere along the line people began to file out of the building, and Greg shooed away Dimmock and the superintendent, with the occasional swear word to prove his point. Sally is the last one to leave, minus John and Greg, and gives a pitying look to both of them. She offers to help, but Greg knows that even if the world offered it's support, it wouldn't be enough.

Somewhere along the line, Greg locked up and ushered John toward his car, not trusting him to go back to his own flat that contains a loaded gun within reach.

Greg set up his couch at first, but then just let John sleep on his bed. John spoke the first word that evening by muttering a "Thanks" before falling asleep.

Next came calling Mrs. Hudson and telling her that yes, in fact, John is okay, he just needs some time away, but he is indeed okay.

The first time John woke from a nightmare that night Greg hadn't even thought about sleep for himself (he was busy trying to clean up this sodding mess), so he made John tea, and listened to the few garbled words that fell out of John's mouth. Most of them revolving around "Sherlock" and "Dead".

The world had just lost a great man. But the world had also just lost a wonderful doctor. Because Sherlock's suicide? It really didn't kill Sherlock, but the world won't know that until two years' time.

Sherlock's suicide only killed one person.

John Watson.

 **Hope you liked it! (And aren't mentally defeated)**

 **Please take a few seconds to leave a review, even if it's only two words! It really makes my day and makes me smile! (And let's be honest, some smiles need to go around after this story)**


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